Meet The Mentors I- Prologue Two
—
Felicity Harrow, District Eleven, 17
Victor of the Seventy-Second Hunger Games
—
The aroma of the roses was certainly misleading. Felicity let out a breath of air, focusing her chilling blue eyes on the patch of roses in the endless gardens of the Capitol. Red roses, beautiful on the outside, but hiding the pain underneath.
She had chosen a sparkling red sweater for the occasion, to hide the blood stains and scars beneath. Her focus was unwavering, all she could picture is the red roses. Not white, no; red. To symbolize the President's thirst for blood.
The cool Capitol air blew around in tufts through the small window. Felicity pulled her sweater closer, determined to shelter herself from the night breeze. Chills shivered down her spine as the wind swallowed her whole. Felicity snapped the window shut.
District eleven didn't often produce victors, yet they still had more than most other districts in Panem. Felicity won by sheer luck; while she was in the arena, she swore she could hear the screams of delight from the idiotic Capitolites screaming her name. Container after container drifted down to where Felicity was that day; it was raining sponsor gifts, she would say.
Sometimes, it was water. Cool, fresh water. Felicity would gulp it down in a split second, relieved to escape the scorching heat of the arena for a meager minute. It was refreshing. A good way to escape. Almost as if she wasn't in the arena. She knew, though, she would never be able to escape. Felicity thought she would be able to leave the arena, in a casket, surrounded by red. Red flowers, red hearts, and most importantly, red blood.
She couldn't even get the image out of her head. She shook her head a few times, blinking a few times a second. A plate of mashed potatoes sat in front of her. She pushed them away from where she sat, uneager to take a bite, no matter how appetizing they were.
Felicity slumped back in her chair, huffing. She groaned, ready to exit the train. Everything around her was a velvet color. Velvet. Like the liquid spilling out from the wounds of a body, symbols of your scars from the worst moments of your life. She felt trapped in the endless memories of the Games, haunting her, like a pest, ugly, horrific, dreadful, scarring her for the rest of her life.
The train car was empty, except for the chilling silence in the air. Felicity allowed herself to let out a sigh of relief as the door slid open. Finally, someone to get the thoughts of her mind. She turned around to face Cutler Farm, the district ten victor from the games right before her. Her cheeks flushed as she turned away.
"Excited?" He asked, pulling out a chair.
"No, not really."
"Me neither." A few minutes of awkward silence separated the two. Felicity fiddled with her thumb, biting her lip to keep her from saying something that would make her go red hot. Red. Could she ever escape it?
"Can I ask you a question?" Felicity asked, her voice not much louder than that of a whisper.
"Of course, anything you want," Cutler rested his head on his fists, wincing a bit.
"Do you ever... have dreams and thoughts of your games? Like their haunting you?"
Cutler pursed his lips, leaving them shut for a few seconds. Felicity bit her lip with more force. A sudden, sharp pain flooded her mouth. She winced a bit, directing her attention back to Cutler. "Yeah. It always comes around the time of the reapings. Mine didn't start until the year after, though."
Felicity turned away, focusing her attention on the buildings and fields rushing past. "Are you getting them now?" Cutler whispered. Felicity barely nodded, slightly turning her head back.
"Your lip is bleeding," he muttered.
"I know. Don't remind me, please," Felicity snapped.
"Do... you want to talk about it?" Cutler asked.
"No," Felicity said, her voice sharp and firm, as though of a knife stabbing through flesh. Felicity winced. "Can you go now? Please?"
Cutler nodded a bit, standing up without a word. He pushed his chair in and left without a trace. His footsteps echoed throughout the car before the door snapped shut.
Felicity closed her eyes after a few seconds, trying to lull herself to sleep. Her eyelids were heavy, dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in quite a few weeks- after all, the Reaping certainly was creeping up on the unsuspecting girl.
Felicity huffed as the train came to a jarring halt. She sat there, determined to not get caught on the train, and not have to go to this stupid party. The door slid open for the second time. "Come on, Felicity, time to go!" Apple, the other district eleven victor huffed. Whenever Apple talked to Felicity, all Felicity could picture is the red sphere, shining and juicy, delicious. Red. Like the color of blood. And when she thought of red, she thought of a bruised Apple. The scars that Apple was left with when she was the only tribute that remained in the scorching arena.
Apple grabbed her arm and yanked, but Felicity sat, unmoving. Her eyes were fixed on the highest balcony on the white building, where the witch stood. President Scarlet Amarenth. Scarlet. What a fitting name. Scarlet liquid dripping out of a mouth, or perhaps from a slit in the throat, or possibly, even a slash near the chest from the white whips that unleash hell on the victim.
Felicity shuddered at the mere thought of it. She blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes to clear her vision in front of her. "Felicity!" Apple snapped. "Get up and out of your damn chair! We've got a party to attend!" Apple grinned from ear to ear, her cheeks becoming as red as a rose. Red. There it was again. Felicity's hands shot up to her ears, blocking out any sudden noise. She squeezed her chilling blue eyes shut, focusing on nothing but her mind.
Red. Roses. Crimson. Sweater. Scarlet. Liquid. The scarlet, dripping down the neck of Burgundy Slate, the unlucky tribute who happened to fall into Felicity's net. Felicity couldn't get the cries of her head- the pleas, the begging, yet at the end of the day, his body was left unmoving. Unresponsive. Surrounded with a pool of red liquid, leaking out of the endless wounds of the pale body.
No matter how hard she tried, Felicity could never escape the horrors of the arena.
—
Linus Quint, District Three, 62
Victor of the Thirtieth Hunger Games
—
Linus Quint was not the man for parties. Especially not since the one party where he got wasted, and spent the rest of the evening hungover and throwing up in the toilet. Or the one where he lost his favorite watch, and found it cracked and broken on the floor. Or the one where he almost got murdered because a fight broke out when two drunk victors started a food fight, then started throwing sharp knives at each other. Point is, Linus Quint doesn't like any type of large gathering than involves alchohol.
Walking in, he right away had a feeling that something would go wrong. The music was a little too loud. The disco ball a little too bright. The alcohol a little too alcoholic. His eyes narrowed into slits, his brow furrowed, as he slinked into the room.
Not even a few minutes into the party, drips of alcohol and smashed cookies littered the marble floor. Linus scowled- some of these victors were so reckless, thinking someone would always clean up for them. Yes, they usually do, as most hired maids and butlers, but it still annoyed Linus to the point where he would boil over. That's why he hated this party the most- he had to be in a room with careless, dirty, annoying people that he wanted no association with whatsoever.
Blinding strobe lights shone throughout the room. Linus rolled his eyes, realizing that he shouldn't have wasted his time on the train, and instead valued it, and maybe he should have taken a nap. He hoped to himself that he would be able to slip away, unnoticed, to the luxuries of his room on the third floor. Then, after the dreaded night was over, he would be able to take the train home and sleep in his own bed, have his own things to do, and not have to worry about being blinded by strobe lights, or being killed by a knife thrown by a drunk man at eleven at night.
A screech from outside attracted the attention of Ellie, the victor standing right besides Linus at the time. A look of excitement took over her solemn face. This was her first year, after all. Despite being a victor for three years already, she wasn't allowed to come to the party until she was 16- the legal drinking age for citizens. And of course, it had to be a party with loads of alcohol bottles crowding the shelves, empty cups littering the counter, and alcohol dripping onto the floor.
"Linus?" Ellie asked, stroking a fake beard on her chin, "What should I try first? The grape wine or the raspberry tart wine?" a ruby red grin covered her mouth. She had lipstick as red as a rose, as red as Felicity Harrow's sweater, as red as the blood dripping down the chin of a victim.
Linus huffed, his straight face drooping to a frown. This was Ellie, though; he lived to hear Ellie's adorable laugh, or catch her contagious smile. He would do anything for Ellie, he was the only thing similar to a child or grandchild he had. Anything, he though, including putting on a happy face and helping her pick a flavor of wine, no matter how much he despised the party, hated the people, or most of all, loathed the wine.
"I would try the raspberry tart wine first. It has a sweeter taste, opposed to the grape. The grape is a lot more bitter," he suggested.
Ellie grinned from ear to ear, pulling a lock of her curly blond hair under her thin nose, dotted with freckles. "Thank you for your input, Mr. Linus sir," she said gruffly, with her best manly impression.
Linus chuckled, messing up her bouncy curls. Ellie fake pouted and flattened out her hair, which bounced up a second after she released it. "Go on, wine taster," Linus declared, "And save all of Panem with your much-needed wine tasting!"
Ellie giggled before scurrying off over to the bar, where she picked up a small glass of raspberry tart wine. Linus laughed to himself, pleased that Ellie was enjoying himself. Ellie meant the world to him; she was the sunshine on a rainy day, the cupcake in a batch of muffins, the marker in a jar of pens. Linus would do anything to see the smile on her face, the bright eyes of hers.
"Hi Linus," said a voice from beside him, no quieter than a megaphone. Linus whipped his head to the side, catching the cheeky grin of Andromeda Poppkin, the annoying girl who always gets drunk at these kind of parties. Linus glared daggers at her, which just earned him a smirk in response.
"Alcohol?" she sassed, holding up a glass filled to the brim with royal purple liquid. Linus pushed her clammy hand away, shaking his head furiously.
"Come on, just a sip," she taunted, shaking the glass along with her hips. A few drips of wine sloshed out of the glass and onto the white floor, leaving a remnant of the encounter.
Linus's face burned red hot. "No," he snapped. "Get away from me you ugly pest."
"Mmm, we got a sassy one tonight, don't we?" She raised an eyebrow, sipping a bit of her wine. "Should I go get some peacekeepers?"
"Andromeda, I didn't come here for your stupid shenanigans. So do me a favor and get out of my hair," Linus argued.
"Like you have any," she scoffed. Andromeda had made a mistake- and a large one at that. She had sent Linus boiling over the edge. Linus lunged at her face, scratching her arm and spilling her wine all over her indigo dress. Andromeda shrieked in fury, tackling Linus to the ground. Others gathered round the scene, taking sides and chanting names.
Ellie rushed over to the scene, her eyes as wide as apples. "Linus!" She cried, watching as peacekeepers ripped the two apart. Linus fought the peacekeepers, but they held firm, dragging him out of the room. Andromeda had a smug smirk on her face as she was hauled off by a peacekeeper.
Well, that sure is one way to get out of a party.
—
Ainsley Jenoff, District Seven, 23
Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games
—
Time hardly passed as Ainsley sat at a table, far away from all the drama. Her head rested on her chin, a glass of bubbling water in front of her. She preferred not to drink alcohol- it messed up her perception of time.
Sighing, she took a sip of her soda, watching the fight unfurl in the middle of the room. She recognized Andromeda, the one really annoying girl from last year's party. She rolled her eyes, directing her attention to the other in the fight. His lip was bleeding, and his arm was full of scratches from Andromeda's razor sharp claws. She'd heard rumors that she got her fingernails genetically altered to be claws. Andromeda's bloodthirsty, and that's that.
Ainsley smirked, amused at how the fight was playing out. Two peacekeepers came over and pulled the two apart. A crying girl that must have just reached the age to come to the party followed the man, tears slipping from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks.
Ainsley let her eyelids fall over her emerald green eyes, relieved for the silence, even if just for a second. Footsteps echoed throughout the silent room, still shocked after the fight broke out. The screeching of a chair being pulled out from under the table snapped Ainsley back into reality. Her head snapped to the direction of the noise. The corners of her mouth turned up as she made out the face of her confidant, Asher Gibbons.
"Hey," he said, falling back onto the chair. He crossed his legs, staring into Ainsley's eyes.
"Hi."
"Not having fun?"
"No, I've been having fun. That fight out there was... entertaining to say the least."
Asher chuckled, letting his defensive barrier fall. "I couldn't even imagine what prompted it. I heard rumors of Andromeda bugging him, and he probably just snapped. I've gotta say, she's sort of annoying."
"Sort of!" Ainsley scoffed. "All she does is terrorize people! She's like... a devil or something. Sometimes, I wish I was in her games, so I could just kill her and get it over with."
The corners of Asher's smile faded into a solemn face. His fingers laced in with each other's, his face pale. Ainsley would have thought he would have seen a ghost if she hadn't been there. He stared at the vase of roses in the middle of the table. She has reached out to touch a very sensitive topic throughout the entire crowd of victors. Ainsley focused her attention on a single cookie at the other end of the room on the treat table. Only that cookie. She analyzed its features- crumbly, delicious, chocolate chippy. The silence was deadly.
"I've got to go.. hang out. With some other friends," Asher muttered, pushing his chair out. The chair screeched, making Ainsley wince. It reminded her of the screeches and screams of the arena, the never ending cannons firing. She could still hear the footsteps echoing bouncing back to her ears, although she had a feeling the room wasn't dead silent anymore.
Ainsley clutched the skin clinging to her forehead and stood up. She would be able to escape this party by going to the restroom- yes, the restroom. Nobody would question that. Her heels click-clacked against the floor. The party had gone back to normal, strobe lights flashing, and the music cranking up as loud as possible. Ainsley held her breath as she walked around the vast hallways, not completely sure where she was going. A click-clack of heels accompanied hers, and she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Miss Ainsley, where ever could you be going?"
Chills shivered down Ainsley's spine as she turned to face the owner of the chilling voice. "Ah, President Amarenth. I was just... headed to the Ladies Room."
"Please, just call me Scarlet. Scholars must stick together." Scarlet giggled to herself. Sweat beaded across Ainsley's forehead, her uncomfortable velvet-colored dress clinging to her legs. "The Ladies Room is the other way, Miss Ainsley, I highly doubt those were your intentions."
"No, no, those... those were my intentions," Ainsley's cheeks turned a bright red as she pursed her lips, trying to find an escape from the conversation.
"I can see right through your lies, Ainsley." Ainsley gulped as Scarlet stared her down. She knew that she could be locked up for this- Scarlet showed no mercy, to nobody.
"I'm sorry, President- Scarlet. I was just looking for an escape from the party. I've been.. stressed lately."
"Surely not from the reapings coming soon, is it?"
"N.. No, not at all," she laughed, a hint of nervousness lacing her voice. "I.. I should be going now, excuse me."
"Just a second, Miss Ainsley," Scarlet smirked. Flashes of white blurred Ainsley's vision, as peacekeepers surrounded the premises. Ainsley blinked to keep away the tears, knowing she has gotten herself into trouble.
"I need a favor. If you don't comply, my peacekeepers here won't be afraid to escort you out of the building. And off to-"
"I know, I know," Ainsley finished. "What... what do you need?"
"A favor," Scarlet said, with no further explanation. She beckoned Ainsley to follow her, the click-clacking of heels doubled now. The halls were empty except for the two, and the flock of peacekeepers following them. Ainsley noted the velvet carpets, for sure symboling the blood the President longed to see.
Ainsley followed her wearily, unaware of how the night would end.
"You're good with an axe, correct?"
"Yes.." Ainsley muttered after a few seconds of silence.
"Good. The carpet will hide the stains."
Well, there you have it! The second chapter of TFS. I hope you enjoyed it- this is the first of four chapters introducing our mentors. Just for clarification- none of the victors exist, like Johanna, Finnick, Beetee, and the like. Only the tributes from the 74th Hunger Games are canon in this story.
What did you think of these mentors? Who is your favorite? What about the fight? And most importantly, what "favor" do you think Ainsley will have to perform?
The next chapter should hopefully be completed by the end of the week, possibly earlier. I have a lot of free time recently.
I've gotten four submissions, so you all still have a lot of time to submit! Remember- after three (possibly two) submissions to the same spot are submitted, the spot will be closed! Then, I will write the first character introduction. :)
See you guys next chapter!
~Anna